This story is jointly owned by myself and Shawn.
Shawn is the one bringing my idea to life.
Inspired by Adele's Rumor Has It.
One day, possibly, I'll try my own version.
Disclaimer:We do not own any BBC Sherlock characters or the show itself. As much as we would like to.
What's Been Done
Years have gone by. And things are more or less the same. Sherlock and I are solving cases, as per usual. We've been trying to go places with our relationship, and for the most part, we have. But lately, something's been hanging over us. An unsettling feeling that looms about us that we can't shake. The problems of our relationship were beginning to surface.
Sherlock and I return to 221B from a case, and he sits down at his armchair, hands tucked under his chin. I take off my coat and hang it up, eyes on the detective across the room, lost in thought. I go to the kitchen to make some tea but, I try a little experiment. I stop, pivot and walk to the living room. I sit on the couch and click on the telly to a rerun of the Graham Norton Show.
When the sound from the telly knocks him from his thoughts, he gives me a glare that can only be described as burning rage. I see it in my periphery, but I just try and focus on the discussion between James McAvoy and Jack Dee.
"What are you doing?" He snarled at me, hands on his knees at this point.
"I'm watching telly. I thought that would be fairly obvious." No matter how hard I tried to stay focused on the show, Sherlock's killing stare finally won out. I looked at him, meeting his stare with my tell-tale pout, as he put it so many times before.
"Why are you watching telly?" He asked, already knowing the answer, as usual, but jabbing me into admitting my game.
"If you want tea, go make it yourself."
"But you always make the tea."
"Maybe I'm tired of always making the tea, Sherlock. Maybe I don't like always having to do everything for you. You're such a child, sometimes."
"You've never complained before, and even if you did, we've always made compromises." He stood and shut off the telly and stood and put hands on his hips. He knows that makes the buttons on his shirt strain, in an attempt to distract me, which he succeeds in, but only for a moment.
"No, you end up fucking me and it shuts me up until the next time I complain. I'm sick of it, Sherlock. I want more respect. Sometimes I feel like your fucking mother!" I stood and marched right up to him.
"You never complain about it when you're on your knees, begging for-" My fist collided with his jaw and he was livid. The flame in his eyes was now a forest fire. He grabbed me by the collar of my jump and slammed me into the nearest wall, lips curled in rage.
My is heart pounding with fear, not sure of what Sherlock's going to do next. I made a move, in the hopes it would keep me alive for a little longer. "What are you going to do, hit me? Choke me? What? Look at yourself, Sherlock? Look at us! Why can't we fix this? I want to fix this, Sherlock. Please. I want to talk about this. I want to talk about us." It was choppy, and slurred due to my lack of breath. My eyes spoke nothing but hurt and fear, burning tears welling in my eyes.
Sherlock searched in my eyes for a moment and found everything. Every hurt word he spewed at me, every insult I quipped back, every forgotten dinner, every forgotten date, every forgotten birthday. He saw every problem between us, and saw how badly I wanted to fix this, but he was not going to have that. He wasn't going to admit defeat. He wasn't going to beg for forgiveness from; he's so stubborn, that one. The fury in his eyes dimmed to a vacant stare. He placed me back onto the floor and released his grip on me. I flattened my stretched out collar. I tried to wipe my eyes dry, but the tears kept flowing, knowing exactly what was about to happen.
He slowly walked down the stairs. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he opened the door and stepped out into the grey. He walked out into the world and into the arms of another. He walked straight into the arms of The Woman.
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